“I beg your pardon, Cousin Martha,” said Mr. Seth, “we forget that you are not a Marylander. Cousin Tom has taken such a decided stand, that we do not realize that perhaps you may be less enthusiastic. The women of our land whose husbands have gone to the war could scarcely be expected to approve it.”
“It is not a cheerful subject, anyhow,” the bride remarked.
“And I am sure the occasion warrants a livelier one,” returned Mr. Seth, gallantly. And they fell to chaffing each other, and in the end, Lettice declared a more pleasant dinner she had never enjoyed at Aunt Martha’s.
“I am surprised that Robert did not immediately take up the cudgels; he is not wont to be so circumspect,” said Rhoda, musingly, as she and Lettice were walking in the garden.
“Isn’t he?” returned Lettice. “Perhaps we are converting him to our way of thinking.”
“That would scarcely be possible,” Rhoda replied. “He is pledged to support his cause, and is too ardent an adherent to give in easily. My father says he is a strong aid to him, and he depends much upon him in various important matters, although Robert is so much the younger.”
“I suppose that is true,” said Lettice, thoughtfully. “I do not wonder, then, that he is anxious that you should be fond of each other. How about it, Rhoda?” she asked teasingly.
Rhoda showed no special emotion except by the nervous closing of her hand. “When the war is over,” she replied, “these vexing, political problems will not interfere with our decisions in other directions, as now they must do.”
“That is very true, Rhoda,” Lettice answered softly. “Let us suppose the war over, and each of us free to act as she would? Is there then no reason why you should not favor Mr. Clinton? What says your heart?”
Rhoda looked her squarely in the eyes. “I admire Robert. I have known him since I was a little child. He is entirely worthy any woman’s regard.” Then suddenly. “And you? What does your heart say?”